


descent

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Coming of Age, Experimental Style, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Self-Discovery, Spooky, demons are a lot like the fae in this, dipper is impatient and stupid, so basically he's a normal twelve year old, subtle hints of sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Gravity Falls has demons that come out under the cover of darkness. The town has its own rules to protect themselves, of course.Dipper is entirely too eager to break them to find out more about the creatures that go bump in the night.
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Comments: 15
Kudos: 82





	descent

**Author's Note:**

> refound [this old (great) post](https://glompto.tumblr.com/post/167400657148/in-the-mound) and a few hours later, when i was about to go to bed, i had the outline for this fic pop up into my head. so, yeah, read this like it was written on the edge of sleep. because the idea was lol
> 
> i listened to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aG91y3T3Rr4) and [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMZ13Hvao1A) while writing, but they aren't necessary to listen to. 
> 
> document title: _a beginner's guide to disappointing your grunkle_

there are demons in the woods of this town.

_where do they come from_ , dipper asks as soon as they’re told.

grunkle stan grumbles something unintelligible, but slants a nasty glance at the curious look on his face. says, crumbling the light in dipper’s eyes as he does so, _nobody’s been dumb enough to go looking._

when mabel sees the broken pieces of what was once excitement, she only nudges him and whispers, _maybe you are_.

maybe he is.

* * *

demons feed off negative emotions and destruction. (fire, fire.)

_write away all your bad thoughts and feelings_ , the townspeople say, as is tradition. _but always burn the letters so they don’t know your secrets_.

they say, _leave the ashes in a stone carved bowl and you’ll wake up in the morning to them gone. it will be windy when you step outside, but the yard will be clean_.

and that is what leads to the first golden rule: feed the demons so they don’t have to come looking.

* * *

salt, pure in substance, keeps demons out.

_circle the house in salt_ , they say next, and big bags of the stuff are on every shelf of every store. even the shack. especially the shack. _flick with holy water, but don’t wash it away._

then – and they all do this, every single one of them – they look right at dipper, eyes of every shade boring into his soul, dead and warning serious, _don’t break the circle_.

_ever._

the second rule is pretty self-explanatory. demons bother those who bother the salt.

* * *

_no matter what you hear_ , grunkle stan says, voice serious and low that first night, _do not open the door_.

_i thought demons can’t get through the salt circle,_ mabel asks, and the mood of the room must be getting to her, because her voice quivers, shakes. dipper’s eyes dart between her and grunkle stan.

_they can’t_ , he confirms, but he is stiff, frozen in place, save for the ever furrowing of his eyebrows. there is an undercurrent to his tone, an anger that makes dipper shiver. he wonders where it comes from.

he might have missed stan’s next words, if not for the way he turned to pin dipper with his gaze. he feels stuck, suddenly, encased in glass. a butterfly, fragile and watched.

_but they can try to convince you to break it for them. and they will try_.

* * *

rule number three: after the sun falls, stay inside. just go to bed, it’s safer there.

* * *

he knows that grunkle stan warned him away from the windows, but dipper just can’t help himself. he wants to know what they look like. he wants to know how soon they come to feed. and even if they are grotesque, what do they sound like?

he is good for the first while, really. he always steps over the salt, careful not to smudge it with his shoes. he walks with grunkle stan after breakfast and dinner every day, checking for breaks. he even gets trusted to sprinkle the holy water!

he misses a couple times, and grunkle stan laughs at him, but he’s getting better. the first day he doesn’t waste any, stan claps a heavy hand on dipper’s shoulder, tells him _eh, takin’ after your old grunkle, huh? better at this than i thought you’d be_.

dipper doesn’t know how exactly one can be good at flicking water droplets, nor why the thought of stan being supposedly inclined to it feels wrong, but he still beams back up at stan with a prideful smile that explodes over his entire face.

later, he finds out he was sunburned. whatever. he still felt pretty good, alright?

when he’s not hanging out with mabel – or skirting the edge of the woods before stan’s sixth sense kicks in and he yells at him to get back in the shack – he’s down at the library. he tries asking around for any information on these demons or about the original deal the ancestors of the town sealed with them to keep them safe (ish). but, to dipper’s despair, everyone he questions gets that same shuttered look. they won’t keep his eyes and they make excuses to change the subject, sometimes even leaving the conversation entirely. when he asks stan, he’s given a particularly venomous glare and a stern, _knock it off. quit bothering people about it. they’re dangerous and i don’t want you poking your nose in it. so, drop it_.

after that, he stops asking people.

so, he turns to books. those, he has to read at the library. he doesn’t know what grunkle stan would do if he saw dipper with them at the shack. to keep him and his mystery solving hidden, he grabs the books that look interesting and ducks into the darkest, dustiest corner, and reads.

what he finds turns out to be… not so helpful. there aren’t anything on demons, not even in the biblical sense. (in fact, some pages of the bible looked like they were ripped right out. he wonders if an unaltered one would hold anything of use.) not wanting to give in just yet, he tries the autobiographies and journals of the people of the town. the older, the better.

that is where he finally hits something.

after many accounts of the everyday lives of the people here (weirdly and, kinda sadly, similar to dipper’s own), he happens upon one; an undated science journal, focused on experiments or interesting things he found. (there is apparently a cool set of rocks that look like a multiheaded bear somewhere in the forest. if only stan would let him go look…)

in this one, he actually meets a demon.

the author details how he prepared himself for the encounter. he slept all day in order to be wide awake and in his clearest head. knowing of the demons’ _siren ways_ , as he called them even as he didn’t clarify why that was known or how it worked, he wore earplugs. he made himself up extra batches of holy water and a blessed knife.

that sounds super cool. dipper wants one of those.

the author also mentions how he took a bath in salt and holy water (a lot of it), as well as soaking his clothes in the same mixture and pouring salt into the soles of his shoes. in addition, he notes that this bath made him incredibly dehydrated and the salt flaked on his skin as it dried, becoming quite itchy. _for science_ he wrote at the end of this account and underlined it. twice.

finally, at the bottom of the page, he begins the encounter. dipper’s grip on the paper shakes in anticipation. he forces himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath in as to make sure he doesn’t tear it.

_just like the mornings when the ash bowls are found emptied, the wind was blowing. however, this breeze did not feel strong enough to blow anything away. just enough to tickle my hair and make my nerves stand on end._

_that, of course, could also have just been him_.

_him_ , dipper thinks to himself, the single word an exhilarating thought. it zips through his mind, electrifying. _him_.

he flips the page.

and immediately stops.

because, there, where words should be, where _he_ should be, is instead covered in red and black scribbles. not a single word is legible. even when dipper holds the journal up close to his face, squinting at each letter that peeked behind the graffiti.

_no! no, no no! this can’t be all there is! there has to be more!_

he flips to the next page.

same treatment.

the next. the next. next. next. next.

he flips and flips and flips. nothing. scribble after scribble after nothing after nothing.

_nothing!_

he wants to scream. he wants to chuck the book into the wall. he wants to tear it page from useless page. _nothing_. how could there be nothing?

how, when he was so, so close?

he riffles through the remaining pages, on the lookout for anything different. he nears the end of the journal and nothing. he is beginning to really hate that word.

then, he spots it.

three pages from the end cover, the red forms a word. forms multiple words.

_do not trust him!_

desperately, dipper scours for more. anything. why? what did he see that warranted so much hiding? what made him so scared? why is everyone else so scared? is it all related?

was it even a demon in the first place?

(grunkle stan would kill him for that thought. but, then again, grunkle stan would kill him for this research in the first place.)

he doesn’t find anything else. not until the last page. the very last page, barely a few sentences on it, strangely untouched. in shaky lettering, light and unsure, so unlike the beginning of the journal.

_don’t ever leave the circle. don’t ever break it. don’t go outside at night. just go to bed and leave it alone._

_and more than anything else, do not listen to the sounds outside._

well, great. now dipper’s more confused than he was in the first place.

just what happened to this town?

* * *

maybe if dipper was a normal kid, that would have scared him off. but he’s not. he’s a freak who gets thrilled at the idea of seeing the demons that everyone knows of, but nobody sees. he’s a nerd who plans the exact way he’s going to see them, too.

so, some nights later, he starts setting aside the materials he needs. some holy water. some salt. he soaks a pocket knife in holy water and hopes that it’s blessed enough. he isn’t sure that it is.

however, a couple nights before he’s ready – and he only plans on rubbing himself down with salt, not actually taking a bath with it. grunkle stan would notice that much salt missing. plus, he doesn’t want to actually die before he sees a demon – he spots something out the window.

he knows he isn’t supposed to be looking out them, but.

he didn’t mean to, okay? he just saw! it was a glance!

(and maybe it was a curious one, but that’s not the point, alright?)

and in his glance, he sees the figure. strangely human, it appears to be approaching the house. is this his demon?

and then it sinks down into the grass. and the first thought in dipper’s head is, _oh god, that’s a person. that’s a person, and they’re out there, and they might need some help_.

so, with a quick sweep around to make sure that stan and mabel are still in bed, he grabs his pocketknife and a flashlight and leaves the safety of the house.

the first things he notices are the windchill and the darkness. it’s so dark that it’s hard to see anything. the wind ruffles some strands of hair that fall in front of his eyes. he pushes them out of his face and turns on the flashlight.

pointing it in the direction of where he saw the person, he calls out a hesitant, _hello?_

nothing. empty air and shivering grass. the hairs on the back of dipper’s neck stand.

_is there anybody out there?_ he asks, slowly pivoting the flashlight over the yard. the wind whispers into his ear, but he tries to ignore it, focusing on what he sees. or, more accurately, what he isn’t seeing.

is there really not anyone out here? is he just going crazy?

but then. he sees it.

and it, it is. certainly not a him. not human, by any means, even if it has a similar shape, initially. only a shadow could fake out the demonic features that show so clearly now with a light directed at it.

in the yard, far from the edge of the salt circle, is a stone stool. short, like a miniature table, it is where they put the shack’s offerings in its small, shallow bowl. dipper kind of finds it to be a little weird, during the day, because no matter how long the sun shines on it, it is always cold and disorienting to touch.

now, atop it, the creature sits. cross legged on the stool, with the bowl balancing delicately on one of its knees. one hand rests beside the bowl, a clawed fingertip against the edge. the other remains peacefully in the thing’s lap.

the demon itself is strange. even from a glance, it is obvious that it is not a person. even as it has people features. it takes the form of a young man with brilliant, golden hair. hair so gold it looks molten. dipper thinks that, maybe in the daylight, it might look like it is shimmering. in movement, it might look like it is truly being poured.

the eyes… the eyes especially show that it is not human. they catch his attention immediately. they glow, bright and reflective. they look like they are causing a light themselves. dipper wonders how he didn’t see them before he flashed the light on the creature. one is yellow, stark and glaring like the sun. the other is a neon blue, so vivid and unlike any other blue he has seen.

around the eyes, the skin darkens and cracks to a blackness that is absolute. the contrast is abrupt. it looks as if its eyes are melting, burning into its face, causing its skin to become nothingness. the void that encircles its eyes drips down, onto its cheeks like a paint coated on too thick.

it is the same around its fingertips, where yellow-orange claws erupt from the blackness. here, however, the fingers look as if they were dipped up to the joints in darkness, but the black softens the further up the finger it goes, a gradient that returns to the rest of the skin color.

as dipper drinks in the creature, he hears himself observing aloud, stupidly, _you’re a demon_.

the demon grins at that.

that smile… it makes dipper shiver. it is wide, too, too wide. the teeth are perfect, white, way too shiny under the flashlight. and above all else, they are sharp. pointed, like that of a shark’s, or even a crocodile. except, these are not separated. as the demon smiles, close mouthed at first, the teeth all align and don’t hang loose or jut out at odd angles.

_mabel would kill for a set as straight as those,_ dipper thinks to himself, perhaps a little hysterically. considering the circumstances, that is. those being the fact that this is an actual demon he’s looking at.

when he isn’t even supposed to be outside.

_my, my,_ the demon drawls, cocking its head. the claw beside the bowl curls inward, scratching against its rough surface. _give the kid a medal, he knows how to use his eyes!_

dipper doesn’t know exactly what to say to that, so he just… stares.

fortunately (or maybe, not so?), the demon takes this in stride. it spreads its fingers out on its other knee, careful not to shred the dark slacks it is wearing. then, it turns its head the other way. _i wonder, what is_ , and here, it emphasizes the word _is_ by widening its eyes. _a human child boy doing outside past his bedtime?_

_i'm not a baby_ , dipper retorts, bitterly. _i don’t have a bedtime_.

just a time that grunkle stan will say, _shouldn’t you be asleep by now?_ but doesn’t actually enforce. so it doesn’t count.

_of course not_ , the demon says with a nod, tone obvious. its claw begins to slowly circle the edge of the bowl. _so, not-a-baby, what are you doing out here? i hear there are_ … the grin, ever present, somehow grows. dipper shifts his weight. its unnerving to look at. _demons out here, this time of night. they like to eat little boys, you know._

very pointedly, dipper looks at the salt circle. he also does not comment about the _little boy_ statement.

the demon’s gaze follows dipper’s own and it laughs. it sounds manic. dipper's fingers twitch around the flashlight. _oh, right, that._

it doesn’t sound particularly bothered, or interested by the white line between them. dipper swallows at the implications that brings.

is it not safe, even within the circle’s boundaries? yes, he knew it is dangerous to be outside the house, where the windows are shut to keep the creatures of the night out. but he still thought that the porch, within the safety of the salt, would be enough.

is he going to find out how wrong he is?

maybe he should have listened to the journal.

should have listened to grunkle stan. the others.

as he is thinking this, panicking in his own thoughts, the demon watches, silent, smiling. the claw makes another loop.

and that. that is…

dipper can’t tear his eyes away from that claw. the bowl teeters under the movement of the demon’s finger. it makes him anxious. it’s going to spill, he knows it. but when?

_say, kid_ , the demon takes back dipper’s attention when it catches on that he isn’t going to say anything. _what’s your name, anyway?_

_burn the letters so they don’t know your secrets_ rings in dipper’s head. he bites his lip, answers nothing.

the demon’s eyes crinkle in his silence, and it mouths something, perhaps to itself. dipper doesn’t know what, though. then, with its free hand, it gestures towards its chest, _you can call me bill._

_bill,_ dipper thinks, _what a boring name for a man-eating nightmare_.

aloud, after a moment’s pause to think about what he is doing, he says back, _people call me dipper._

the claw circles and bill’s eyes crinkle again. dipper feels, strangely, like he did something right here. he doesn’t know what.

_people, huh?_ bill rolls its head on its shoulders. _i'm not really one of those. got anything else for me?_

and with a surge of, something, dipper doesn’t know what, he replies, _you can pick out a different nickname for me, i guess_.

another laugh. _i like you, kid_.

_okay_ , dipper says back, but his face burns. his heart thumps hard, for some reason.

nobody ever really… likes him. not dipper, not the weird kid who never did what he was told, who always had his nose in some creepy book. not him, who is still too skinny and off-kilter like a newborn deer, whose voice cracks at a shift in the breeze.

so, no, he doesn’t really believe bill, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

the hand not messing with the bowl slides up from bill’s knee and onto its thigh. dipper watches it, staring even after it stops until bill speaks again. he jerks his gaze away, feeling caught, but when he looks up into bill’s dual-colored eyes, they show no outward reaction to his bumbling.

_so, you and your family write the letters that you burn, right?_

dipper’s eyebrows scrunch together, wondering where this is going. still, he nods slowly. _yeah…_?

bill's claw finally stops. he watches as bill pinches some ash between its fingertips. _why don’t you just tell me about your day, instead of writing these little things?_ its grin continues not to stray and dipper eyes it, a little transfixed.

belated, the words _don’t let them know your secrets,_ again, come to his head. he blinks, shaking back a weird fog that attempts to wrap itself around his head. maybe he is a little more tired than he initially thought.

_why?_ he asks bill back, offering nothing in return.

the wind picks up, suddenly. the ash in the bowl, between bill’s fingers, doesn’t move.

bill is quiet for a long moment, quieter than it has been the entire conversation. dipper looks up into its eyes, cocking an eyebrow. it leans forward, as if it was waiting for dipper’s complete attention.

then, when it has it, it says, in a hiss that it hasn’t used before, _i know that everything you write would be ever so more delicious when it came right from the source, of course._

it licks its bottom lip. its tongue is thin, forked, like a snake.

dipper swallows.

and swallows again.

he doesn’t… he doesn’t know what to say to that. he doesn’t know what to even think about that.

his fists clench around the knife and the flashlight, gripping them so hard that the beam of light illuminating bill shakes a little. his lips press tight together, a pressure that keeps him grounded as his head floods with static-y emptiness. the cogs simply won’t turn. nothing is running up there.

and oddest of all, his thighs flex, rubbing together. it’s kind of – no, it’s really weird. he feels weird. weird and hot and…

maybe this was a bad idea. it feels like a bad idea.

so, saying back not a word, he spins on his heel and goes back to bed.

he thinks he hears a laugh behind him, and a, _sweet dreams, kid_.

* * *

safe inside and tucked under the covers, dipper finds himself unable to sleep. he keeps seeing sharp, sharp teeth in the dark. too wide smiles that grin like they want to swallow him whole. a tongue that isn’t human, twisting and smelling, because that’s what snake tongues do, they smell. a tongue that smells and knows everything he doesn’t. everything about his… weirdness.

_oh, god,_ he thinks, _did i somehow let it in? did i forget to close and lock the door?_

he can’t bring himself to check.

his fear – at least, that’s what it must be, right? – keeps him trapped, wide eyed, under the covers. it’s what keeps his blood, in his veins, so heavy and sluggish. it seems to pool in his legs, which are wound tight. they pulse, like he’s been running and running and running.

like he’s been running for his life.

and somehow, despite no sleep, or any early daytime naps, he doesn’t feel tired at all.

**Author's Note:**

> dipper, honey, you're just horny


End file.
